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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720534">Sweeten the Pot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto'>risotto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dare, Japanese National Team, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Truth or Dare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You heard me,” Atsumu says, arms folding. “I dare ya, Bokuto Koutarou, to go kiss Ushijima Wakatoshi.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bokuto Koutarou/Ushijima Wakatoshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweeten the Pot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As the tag says, this is post-canon, when certain characters are a part of Japan's National Team. If you don't want to spoil yourself on certain (minor, and character-based) plot points of Haikyuu!! post the Nationals arc, then I suggest you do not read further.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They <em> should </em>be discussing strategies and stretching. But it’s muggy as all hell, the air too hot and thick to do anything, much less some volleyball drills in a gymnasium. </p><p>And for once, their coach and trainers agree, allowing the team to take it easy for the day with an open-gym concept. Atsumu and Bokuto waste no time in taking advantage of this by slumping against one of the far walls on the pretenses of ‘stretching’ and ‘discussing strategies’ when, really, they just want to slack off and play <em>Fuck, Marry, or Kill</em>. </p><p>Which then quickly morphs into a game of <em>Truth or Dare</em>; that, in turn, becomes a game of just <em>Dare</em> after Bokuto successfully convinced Atsumu to admit he’d have sex with a female clone of himself.</p><p>Then Bokuto made the grave mistake of gloating about knowing it all along.</p><p>And then Atsumu gets a certain <em> look </em>in his face. His oft-crooked grin turns sharp and that’s when Bokuto knows he’s in serious trouble. Dread creeping up his spine, he watches as Atsumu sweeps his lazy gaze over the other players on the court making the most of their day. </p><p>“Oh, yeah? That so? Would ya put ten thousand yen on the next bet?”</p><p>The squeak of sneakers in the background does little to muffle the gulp in Bokuto’s throat. This can’t be good but he can’t back down from a challenge, either. “Y-Yeah.”</p><p>“In that case, go kiss Ushiwaka.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You heard me,” Atsumu says, arms folding. “I dare ya, Bokuto Koutarou, to go kiss Ushijima Wakatoshi.”</p><p>“Right now?” Bokuto casts a furtive glance toward the man in question practicing by himself on the opposite side of the court. </p><p>“Yup. On the mouth.”</p><p>“<em>Right now </em> right now?” Bokuto pretends he doesn’t hear the nervous crack in his own voice.</p><p>Atsumu taps the topside of his own wrist, tauntingly. “Yeah. Chop chop. Clock’s tickin’, sugar. And if ya want that money, then ya might wanna hurry. Five minutes is all y’got.”</p><p>Over on the other court and blissfully unaware of their shenanigans, Ushijima takes a break from spikes and wipes the sweat off his chin with his shirt. The action lifts the hem up and exposes the defined lines of his sculpted stomach. </p><p>Bokuto feels his fingers dig into his thighs like talons. “Like I need five minutes,” he mutters.</p><p>“Yer soundin’ pretty confident t’me.”</p><p>Oh. Right. For a moment there, he forgot Atsumu was right there next to him. “That’s ‘cause I am,” he snaps. Nevermind the slight quake in his legs.</p><p>“In that case, if you throw in some tongue, I’ll sweeten the pot and give you two meal tickets to Pound.”</p><p>The steakhouse. The famous, super expensive, super exclusive, award-winning steakhouse, no less. The kind that Bokuto and his shaky finances could only dream of going to. And now, it’s within reach.</p><p>All he’s gotta do is tongue Ushijima down. </p><p>Fuck.</p><p>It’s not that Bokuto particularly cares if anyone bears witness to him sucking face with someone. He is, after all, known online as King Fanservice of Team Japan. He once did a photoshoot for <em> Badi </em>magazine, for crying out loud. This should be nothing!</p><p>Except...it’s Ushijima. The guy is not only different from any of the guys and girls Bokuto has ever flirted or slept with, he’s also tall, ridiculously strong, and built like an ancient Greek statue. Bokuto himself is not shabby in the musculature department but Ushijima Wakatoshi’s on another level altogether. God, he’d probably break Bokuto in half before their lips can make contact. </p><p>It’s both scary and hot at the same time.</p><p>“<em>Unless yer more of a chicken than an owl</em>,” Atsumu’s voice taunts in his ear.</p><p>That’s it.</p><p>Equal parts determined and scared out of his mind, Bokuto stiffens his back and marches on across the court, narrowly missing a stray ball in the process. </p><p>“Ushiwaka!”</p><p>Whatever confidence Bokuto has fizzles out of him the instant the giant eagle of Miyagi prefecture turns those sharp eyes onto him. Bokuto deflates, both physically and mentally. The strength in his knees gone, his brain goes into panic mode. </p><p>So he awkwardly begins to talk about the first thing that comes to mind. “Pretty shitty weather we’re having, yeah?”</p><p>“It is unusually humid,” Ushijima agrees, his voice low and even, as he wipes his stupid shirt over his stupid handsome face again. This time, Bokuto catches a glimpse of Ushijima's underwear waistband.</p><p>Calvin Klein, really? </p><p>Still, Bokuto persists. Somewhat. “Yeah!”</p><p>Ushijima just stares at him, expectant and quiet as ever. </p><p>Out the corner of his eye, Bokuto sees Atsumu leaning back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Cheeky bastard. Aran’s joined up with him, no doubt wondering what’s going on. Atsumu obliges him, apparently, because in the next moment, Aran is sparing Bokuto a pitiful look and shaking his head like a disappointed dad before he returns to block-follow practice with Yaku. </p><p>Bokuto gets even more antsy. “Yeah, so...uh…”</p><p>Ushijima’s tall—not that much taller than him, actually—so Bokuto figures if he just tiptoes, he can catch the big lug off-guard and kiss him long enough to score the money before Ushijima’s even aware of what’s happened. The steak at Pound is great but he doesn't <em> need </em> it.</p><p>With that settled, he braces himself and leans in, pushing up on his toes.</p><p>And gets clocked right in the back of the head by a stray volleyball. </p><p>The momentum sends him tumbling forward, his balance thrown off. His ears ring and the last thing he hears clearly, aside from white noise, is one of the other guys yelling out a warning and then an apology. </p><p>Unable to regain his footing, he’s sent toppling over right into Ushijima’s body and to the ground, on his knees; his face and upper half are cushioned by Ushijima himself who Bokuto, in the realm of pain and white noise, finds surprisingly warm and solid and very comfortable. He smells nice, too. Not too heady or musky, just—</p><p>“Are you all right?” comes Ushijima’s voice.</p><p>Bokuto groans into what he assumes is Ushijima’s...shirt? He can’t tell just yet. It just feels like some warm fabric. “Mmngh. Yeah.”</p><p>“Then will you kindly remove your face from my crotch?”</p><p>“Uh?” Bokuto reels back and confirms that, yes, he’s on his knees, and yes, his face was buried in the other young man’s groin. He doesn't need to look to know Atsumu’s over there, doubled over and wheezing from laughing so hard—he can hear him just fine.</p><p>“S-Sorry…”</p><p>For a guy that looks like he’s getting head in the center of a volleyball court in front of at least twelve other people, Ushijima isn’t even angry or bothered in the least. He just blinks. Bokuto’s beginning to think nothing can faze this guy.</p><p>So why is this so hard?</p><p>“Sorry,” mumbles Bokuto again as he stands. Then, after a quick moment of consideration, he blurts out a, “fuck it,” and kisses Ushijima right on the mouth.</p><p>When he pulls back moments later, everything around them has gone quiet and Ushijima is wide-eyed with a wild look he’s only seen during games. No wonder people used to hate playing against Shiratorizawa and the Adlers. Up close like this, the guy is <em> terrifying</em>.</p><p>And hot. Ridiculously hot. Bokuto idly thinks it wouldn’t be too bad if Ushijima’s glare is the last thing he sees before he shuffles off this mortal coil.</p><p>“You have exactly one minute to explain yourself,” says Ushijima, his voice still neutral but dangerous.</p><p>Knees buckling, Bokuto sputters, “Y-You see, the thing is, you know how we like to play around and—”</p><p>“Fifty five seconds.”</p><p>That puts the fear of god in him.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Bokuto squeaks. “Tsum-Tsum dared me to! I swear, I didn’t want to do it but the stakes were high.” He puts the brakes on that train of thought when he considers the opportunity that’s presented itself. “Or the <em> steaks </em>were high, when you think about it…”</p><p>Kuroo would have appreciated the pun.</p><p>Unamused and unbothered, Ushijima says nothing for a long moment, before he finally asks, “what were the stipulations?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The stipulations of your dare,” Ushijima clarifies. “What were they?”</p><p>It takes Bokuto a moment to remember what ‘stipulations’ means but figures he’s better off  just winging it. “Oh. Uh, Tsum-Tsum said if I kissed you, I’d get ten thousand yen. And if I…” </p><p>The words trail off into a soft whisper. Embarrassment rarely registers for Bokuto but it does happen once in a blue moon. Or when Ushijima’s looking at him like he’s his next victim.</p><p>“And if you…?”</p><p>“—tongue,” Bokuto squawks that out, just barely, “I’d get two meal tickets to the Pound steakhouse.”</p><p>“The one in Ginza?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>It gets quiet between them after that.</p><p>“So, uh, you game?”</p><p>Bokuto’s not sure why he asked. Maybe Ushijima’s curiosity sparked something in him. Maybe he has a death wish. Maybe the volleyball to the back of his head left lasting damage.</p><p>Ushijima’s expression grows especially stormy, his posture rigid and menacing, while his icy eyes turn downward to consider Bokuto’s mouth. It’s all kinds of wrong and sexy. Bokuto feels his lips part involuntarily, while a single bead of sweat trickles down between his shoulder blades. He shivers.  </p><p>Ushijima doesn't lunge at him so much as he swoops down on him like an eagle on its prey. Then there’s tongue—good <em> god </em>is there tongue—all wet and hot and Bokuto thinks, for the barest of moments as something tickles at the roof of his mouth, that Atsumu picked the perfect dare.</p><p>For all his stoicism and borderline robotic behavior on and off the court, Ushijima is a wonderful kisser. He takes control and gives as good as he gets, if not more—something that Bokuto, who’s often on the giving end, appreciates. Especially once he realizes just how <em> hard </em>their bodies are pressing against each other.</p><p>Maybe it’s a good thing it ends a short while later—any longer and Bokuto wouldn’t have thought twice about hooking a leg around him and staying lip-locked with him for the rest of the day.</p><p>To his credit, Ushijima doesn’t abruptly pull away and leave him hanging. He’s considerate and slow, and even murmurs something that sends a reckless, excited shudder down his spine.</p><p>Somehow, Bokuto makes it back over to Atsumu in one piece. He doesn’t remember the journey over. Doesn’t remember the <em> looks </em> on his teammates’ faces or how steam seemed to shoot out of Sakusa’s ears. Doesn’t even remember his feet touching the floor.</p><p>When he comes to, mostly, he’s with Atsumu at their roost on the far wall, staring off into space in disbelief without blinking.</p><p>“You only had to kiss him once,” Atsumu says. It sounds like he's miles away.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Ahead, Ushijima has started talking to someone—Iwaizumi, to be precise, who looks like a man trapped somewhere between wanting to die laughing and bound to his strict duties as an official trainer for the team. Ushijima’s body language is as unreadable as ever and he even slightly bows his head toward the trainer in apology. Great, that just means Bokuto’s going to get an earful from Iwaizumi later.</p><p>Ushijima then turns, ostensibly to return to his drills, and in the process, he locks gazes with Bokuto. And smiles.</p><p><em>Worth it though, </em> Bokuto thinks, a dopey grin curving at his mouth.</p><p>A large hand wiggles back and forth in the path of his vision that Bokuto vaguely recognizes it as Atsumu’s. “Hello~? Did you hear anything I said? Or was Ushiwaka <em> that </em>good?”</p><p>“You have no idea,” Bokuto sighs after a while.</p><p>Atsumu lets out a low whistle and starts to unzip his gym bag. “Welp, a deal is a deal,” he says, and offers up his prize: a crumpled ten thousand yen note and two tickets bearing the Pound Steakhouse logo.</p><p>Eyes still on Ushijima, Bokuto doesn’t take them right away, which only seems to annoy Atsumu. “Hey, if y’don’t take ‘em, I’m keepin’ ‘em.”</p><p>“Oh, whoops, sorry,” an embarrassed Bokuto says. That’s, what, the second time today? It must be some kind of record.</p><p>Atsumu sneers at him. “Man, he really did a number on ya, huh? Did he say somethin’?”</p><p>Bokuto starts, then attempts to brush it off with a laugh and a dismissive wave of his hand. Which, in hindsight, does little to help his case. But still, he tries. “It’s not important,” he says without thinking. “Er…”</p><p>The sneer on Atsumu’s face morphs into a knowing grin. “Yeah? So what did he say?”</p><p>
  <em> You can pay me tonight, Bokuto Koutarou. </em>
</p><p>Bokuto just grins.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was sitting in my docs for a long time, with Kuroo in Atsumu's role, but then Furudate made <i>things</i> happen and I couldn't help myself.</p><p>I'm @milkcustard on Twitter if you want to bug me.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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